Interlude
by Raven's Wing
Summary: Flynn doesn't remember most of that week celebrating Rapunzel's return, but there are about twenty minutes he would never forget.


**Disclaimer**: I own nothing related to the Tangled universe including, but not limited to, characters, names of places, lyrics, dialogue, or any other piece of product. Disney retains all the rights to this universe. I am making no money or receiving any kind of compensation, material or non-material, for this fiction. It's all for fun. Please don't sue me. I do claim the writing, the idea behind this particular narrative, and any peripheral characters or locations created to augment Disney's work.

**A/N**: Written for no other reason than saucy goodness. Seriously. That is _the_ only reason I wrote this. I need to get laid.

**WARNING**: This is M for hotness. Strictly R rated. So if you no likey sexy-times, you no welcome here.

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He shoves her back against the library bookshelf. The books thud upon impact and she moans against his mouth. He is pretty sure he is hurting her but he can't stop. He can't slow down. He can't think about what he is doing or else he will remember all the reasons he shouldn't let this happen.

Reasons like he is the mature one, the "grown up", and she is still a child in more than just her age. She is young. So young, so eager to please, so innocent, and he can taste her inexperience in each greedy kiss. He should remember that four days ago she didn't know a kiss could feel like this and he shouldn't take advantage of her enthusiasm. He should remember to stop.

He should.

He could.

He would... except nimble fingers find the latches of his tailored vest and slip beneath his shirt to run across the twitching muscles of his abdomen and - gods - he can't stop her, not even if he tries, and he isn't about to do that.

He isn't even supposed to be here (and he doesn't just mean in the library canoodling with the princess). He isn't supposed to be in the palace at all. He isn't even supposed to be in Corona. He isn't supposed to be a boyfriend, a babysitter, a cradle robber... He is supposed to be Flynn Rider, Grand Pooh-Bah and sole occupant of Flynn's Awesome Island (name pending). He was supposed to make the rules, set the terms, chart his own course, but she whimpers into his mouth and - fuck - he has never been this hard in his life.

They don't have much time.

Life in the palace with a princess meant schedules and rules. Those are two things Flynn never much liked, but Eugene accepts for her. This is all for her. The putting aside the of suave, overwhelming confidence of Flynn Rider and putting on the honest, vulnerable, and horrifyingly needy Eugene is for her. The stiff clothes and awkward conversations and general feelings of inadequacy in the face of nobility are all for her. For her smile, her laugh, and her hands skimming along the waist of his pants.

It never felt like this before. The heat, the pressure, the way his lungs ache because breathing is difficult to remember with her tongue tracing the shell of his ear and he doesn't know what comes next. Well Flynn does, but he isn't Flynn right now. What she does to him goes deeper than his alter-ego, reaches further than his shallow exterior. With her he doesn't have to hide, doesn't have to prove anything, and that rattles him. To her - he is Eugene and that is all she needs.

It is just that Eugene has no idea what he is doing, but then again, she doesn't know what she is doing either.

And there was the problem.

She doesn't understand the implications and the consequences of her actions. She doesn't know the stigma and the expectations of being a lady. She doesn't have a clue what it means to dip tiny fingers into his navel and he has never been dumb enough to show her what the tension coiling in her stomach meant. He's never been dumb enough to show her how good can slip, so easily, into great. He's never been that dumb, but right now he wants to be.

He cups her ass through heavy skirts and squeezes. He breathes her in and out and he thinks of all the other ways he can go in and out of her. She sucks his lip between sharp little teeth and that - that makes him want to be as dumb as a sack of dirt.

His hands wrap around her back and begin to work loose the twenty billion fasteners holding her dress in place. It is difficult to do because she wriggles against him, and the delicious friction is distracting. It doesn't help that, even if he'd never admit it, that his hands are shaking. After an impossibly long time, she is free enough to shimmy her arms out of the gown and let the bodice fall around her waist.

Then there she is. The fabric of her corset and chemise staring him down in their stark white, blinding him to everything besides how sexy she is.

There were laces on her corset and where Flynn never would have fumbled, Eugene's fingers slip and struggle with the ties. Where Flynn would have ripped, Eugene is careful. Where Flynn's hands were steady, Eugene trembles with want to touch bare skin.

It has never been like this before. He never wants it to be any other way again.

They don't have much time.

By the point he loosens her draws enough to free her from the confining corset he knows that they are pressing their luck. There are appearances and banquets and parades and fittings and eighteen years of royal responsibilities they have to get to today. It is only a matter of minutes before the entire palace staff was searching for them, but she gasps pulls him in for another starving kiss and he doesn't care.

He doesn't care if they are found undressed and in a compromising position. He doesn't care about the disapproving looks and the pariah status he has already more than secured. He doesn't care that men have been killed for far less. All he cares about is how her hands feel running down his back, how her lips taste like the sugar cookies she snuck from the kitchen, and how her body just begs him to do what he does best.

Or at least what Flynn does best.

But everything with Flynn was clinical. Flynn knew how to give them theirs and he knew how to get his. It wasn't a ritual in that each of his lovers were different, but it was a pattern and technique he perfected. Ultimate pleasure with the least amount of connection was Flynn's specialty, but that didn't work here because he is everything but disconnected.

Eugene is a mixed up bag of thoughts and feelings and nerves. He doesn't want this to be good just because that is the end goal of grand pleasure equation. He wants this to be good because he cannot imagine it being anything but. Eugene is a fumbling fourteen year old, reaching out for the first time, trusting that this okay. He is testing and tentative because he cares. He cares so much he can feel it like a tangible thing in his chest and he doesn't want to screw this up, and where Flynn would have charged forward, Eugene pauses.

"Blondie." He groans into the skin where her neck met her shoulder.

She pushes his shirt up over his head and he helps, but he knows this is going too far too fast. She nips at his collarbone, fingers digging into the rolling muscles of his back, sliding down his spine, sending shivers down to his toes. Her back arches, trying to close the distance between their bodies. The press of her chest against his, even with the fabric of her chemise guarding her virtues, is dizzying.

"Rapunzel." He tries again, pulling his head up away from the intoxicating perfume of her skin, and looks at her.

Her face is flushed, wide green eyes hooded and glazed, Cupid bow lips bitten and tempting. The choppy brown hair she is not quite used to is rumpled. He feels her heat, her need, and it mirrors his own, only she doesn't know the first thing about what this means.

That doesn't stop him from thinking he could look at her like this forever.

"What?" It is as frustrated as it is breathless when she tries to pull him back to kiss her but he won't budge.

... What, indeed.

"We need - to talk." He says even though it pains him.

"About what?" She runs an exasperated hand through her wonderfully rumpled hair.

"About - _this_." He gestures to all of them. "I mean, damnit Blondie, do you even know what we are doing?"

"Kissing?" Her expression is a mixture of concern and impish frustration, but her answer is every reason why he is a bad, bad man. If this is just kissing, then he has met a whole lot of angry fathers who had missed that memo. She doesn't know. She is just going with what felt good, what he showed her, and there has to be a special place in hell for guys like him.

"Look, Goldie, what we are doing here is a little bit more than kissing and, to be honest, if _anyone_ walked in on us like this we - well I would be in big trouble." His hands cup her bare arms and he can feel the heat pulsing out of her. He can see the desire in her eyes. Why did he stop them?

"Why?" She cocks her head to the side, instantly curious,

"Because a long time ago some old boring people made a rule that said that boys and girls should keep their boy parts and girl parts away from each other until they get married." Eugene tries to make it sound as dumb as he feels it is.

"Why?" She scrunches up her nose. "Why did they say that?"

That question is more than he wants to answer. He doesn't feel up to discussing the birds and the bees with Rapunzel. That is something for another day when she isn't half naked and irresistible.

"Because - sometimes rules are put there to keep people safe."

"Keep people safe from what?" She screws up her face.

"From people who take advantage of other people." People like him. "Look – I can't believe I'm saying this – but I need to help you put back on your clothes."

"Why?"

She looks up at him. Her chemise slips off of one shoulder revealing the soft upper curve of her breast. He wants to touch. No. He wants to grab and hold and _squeeze_. He wants to rip the rest of her chemise off of her body and just devour the skin he found underneath. He wants to make her moan herself hoarse right here against this bookshelf.

So why stop?

Because she is Rapunzel. Silly, funny, gorgeous, sexy Rapunzel, and he isn't ready to say he loves her, but he sure as hell is ready to say that he cares about her. She is unique in his experience with women because he wants more from her than just a quick burst of pleasure. He wants every part she had to offer for as long as she will offer it, and taking her virginity against a bookcase in a frenzied rush doesn't exactly fit that picture.

He cannot believe he is about to say what he is going to say – but the words spill out anyway

"Because it is the right thing to do."

And it is.

No matter how frustrating it is for him to pull that fallen sleeve back up onto her shoulder.

She looks at him with a puckered brow, eyes squinted in bewilderment, and they work together to pull the clamshell of her corset back into place. He turns her around and pulls the laces. Each tug is heartbreaking in its own right, like he is digging his own grave with each restricting pull. The twenty billion hooks take much longer to latch back together than they did to unfasten, and Rapunzel fidgets the entire time. He tries his best to not notice the delicate pebbles of her spine or the way her shoulder blades curve out from her back like she may sprout angel wings. He tries not to notice how soft the baby hairs on the nape of her neck look or how kissable her shoulder is. When he finishes, he clears his throat and steps back.

She bends over and picks up his shirt and vest at her feet. She turns and hands them to him. She watches him pull his shirt back over his head, appreciating the way his muscles stretch and bunch under his skin. He appreciates her attention even though the hungry look in her eyes does nothing to help his self-control.

"So does this mean we can't kiss anymore?" She bites her lip.

"Why would you say that?" He shrugs his vest on, puzzling at her assumption.

"Because… you know! You just stopped us." She makes a wide gesture with her hands and he cannot help but smile at her dismay. She is the most frustrating, adorable creature he's ever laid eyes on.

"I slowed us down."

He is done with his fasteners and steps closer to her. Large hands reach to smooth her rumpled perpetually short hair and then cup her face. He holds her gaze to his.

"I promise someday soon I will explain why we had to get dressed, and someday I hope to _show_ you why, but not today, not right now. I just need you to trust me. This isn't the right time." He brushes his thumbs across her cheeks.

"So we are still kissing?" She asks with a flutter of her eyelashes and he cannot help but chuckle. Ah, youth.

"Yes. Blondie, I plan on kissing you for a very long time."

As if to prove his word, he bends and seals his mouth over hers in a fervent gesture. She sparks to life at his touch and he pulls back before this thing got out of hand again. The enigmatic expression on Rapunzel's face assures him that she is nothing less than dangerous. The sooner they got out amongst other people the less likely he is from breaking every good intention he has by taking her right here and now.

He grabs her hand in his and pulls her towards the door.

"Come on, Princess. I am sure there is someone missing us somewhere. This is your party after all."

Before they open the door, Rapunzel hooks her free hand around Eugene's neck and pulls him down for one more kiss before they rejoin the real world. It is hard and fast and when she pulls back she looks him dead in the eye.

"You promise you will explain why you stopped us?" She is as serious as he has ever seen her and that old Flynn Rider smirk creeps onto his face at her unknowing implication.

"Darling," He makes sure his voice is low and dangerous. "It will be my pleasure."

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**A/N**: If I am not getting any, my characters aren't getting any. It is only fair, after all. Ha. I kind of wish I was kidding.

For those of you who care, _Turning Tides _will hopefully be updated soon and I have also started dabbling in the Frozen universe. Go check that out if you want.

Feel real stalker-y? hit up my fanfiction twitter: **ravenswrite**


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